


Letters

by killingg_eve



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, I can't stress this enough - actual letters, Letters, Literal letters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:20:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 8,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27156521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killingg_eve/pseuds/killingg_eve
Summary: Villanelle and Eve write letters to each other, post season three.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 80
Kudos: 164





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy!

Dear Eve,

I’ve been missing you a lot, lately.

~~I was fine for the first two weeks.~~

I was fine for the first three and a half days. Then, I was sitting on a corner of Paris eating a crepe—the crepe was _really_ good. I miss that crepe. Anyway, I saw a baby with corkscrew curls. Her hair was BIG. The baby wasn’t big, the baby was small. And rude! I didn’t notice I was staring at her, but she took one look at me and shrieked _loudly_.

Eve, why don’t these parents teach their babies not to be so loud?! So rude? So annoying. So . . . _mean_.

It made me think, again, “Am I that monster?” You know, the one Helene said. But I trust you more than Helene. You said I am “so many things.”

What does that even mean, Eve?? Things are so complicated, with you.

\--Not always. Sometimes they’re easy. Like the dancing.

We looked _good_ , that night, when we were dancing. Especially because I looked good. I always look good.

What was I talking about? Oh—I was saying that I miss you.

I am renting a place in Alaska. Alaska makes me think of you, since that was where I was supposed to take you, but it makes even more sense for me, now. The cold stings like shit. It’s a lot like the feeling of having you so far away from me. It hurts like the walking away hurt.

I don’t mean to interrupt your search for a normal life. You can go back to Niko . . . to your chicken . . . to whatever it is that you go back to, these days.

~~I love~~ I miss you. I will send you a present, whenever The Twelve gives me access to the money they owe me for killing Rhian.

That was a joke. I can see you frowning, when you read that part.

You’re a cranky lady. A funny, cranky lady.

~~Yours~~ Your Friend,

Villanelle


	2. Chapter 2

Villanelle,

I’m relieved to hear that you’re safe.

Sorry, I never really write letters. It’s not “my thing,” or whatever.

Do you go ice fishing, in Alaska? I hope you don’t drink too much, while you’re staying there. It’s risky to drink in a place that is so cold and dark. I’m not trying to boss you around—in fact, I can practically hear you arguing in my ear—but please just try to take care of yourself.

Bold of you to assume I go home to Niko and Tallulah (the chicken we had). Niko is still in hospital, so I go home to my ~~tiny~~ studio apartment. ~~I watch K-Dramas and usually~~ ~~cry myself to sleep at about 10:00 or 11:00.~~ I’m still working with Carolyn. I’m focusing on living a minimal life. I think solitude has been really good and healthy for me; I wonder why I didn’t do this earlier.

It’s interesting that you were thinking of me. I thought of you, too, not long after our goodbye. I was at the grocery store and this ~~gentleman~~ man went in front of me, at the checkout line. I had my small basket of essentials, but _no_ , he had to push his whole cart of Hamburger Helpers in front of me. I thought about how you would have thrown him to the ground in a millisecond and forced him to apologize, while you choked him to death on the supermarket floor. And I _laughed_ so hard at that thought—I couldn’t help it. And everyone started to stare at me, while I laughed, and that just made me laugh _harder_.

Are you laughing, while you read this? I have an odd feeling that you’re the only one who would get it.

Dancing was fun, wasn’t it? ~~It was the freest I’ve felt in . . . probably ten years.~~ ~~I can’t stop wondering – Why were you sad, that night? You didn’t want to talk about it, then, but do you want to talk about it now?~~ We should try something different, next time. Maybe the cha cha or the tango.

You don’t have to send me anything. And who is Rhian??? Does Carolyn know—does Konstantin know that you killed her? Oh, and what’s the deal with the boss you mentioned (Helene)?

I paused for a deep breath, but . . . I was trying to say that you don’t need to send me anything and that I appreciate your letter.

Please stay safe. Let me know if there’s something I can do to help with the iciness you wrote about. ~~And please help me with it. I feel it, too. It hurts.~~

Your friend,

Eve


	3. Chapter 3

Dear Eve,

I was surprised to get a response. You know, this is the only mail addressed to Billie Morgan? Nobody else wants anything to do with her, apparently. She can’t even get an ad from the cable company.

Don’t worry your pretty brain about it. I’m not drinking that much. I keep the rum for the warm feeling (ick, I don’t even like the taste, though).

You write good letters, Eve. You don’t give yourself enough credit for your good qualities or the things that you know. ~~And you have no clue how beautiful you are.~~

Give me a description of the man from the grocery store. The “Hamburger Help,” or whatever, is not enough to go on. Tell me what he looks like, and I will find him for you. He will wish he never even went shopping in the same _country_ as Eve Polastri.

Don’t worry about Helene. She touched my arm after I got stabbed with hair scissors, and she made me really uncomfortable and threatened me. But she is not as bad as I made her sound. In fact, she’s kind of hot. (Not as hot as you, of course!)

I like your tiny apartment. Did you get a new toothbrush? I used yours, when I was there. Oh, and do you still keep the bear, or did you get rid of it?

This “solitude” thing. How do you do it? Do you have any advice? I want to have the solitudes, too. I’m not so good at being by myself. ~~It makes me think of Russia, which makes me think of Mama.~~

I do not fish. I buy whatever I want from the locals. Fishing is like . . . throwing the line out and just _waiting_. It’s so boring.

What do you do for fun, Eve? Do you have a crafty side, or something? Do you bake?

~~Last night, I had this dream where you held me in your arms. I did not want to wake up.~~

I hope you will write me back, again. I do not want to intrude on your normal life, though. Let me know; you can be honest about it.

Your friend,

Villanelle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor bby. :(
> 
> P.S. Thank you all for your comments on this piece and others! I am sorry to have fallen behind in responding.


	4. Chapter 4

Villanelle,

I’m glad to hear you’re doing okay, even if you don’t fish and you don’t drink. What _do_ you do, then? How do you pass the time?

You got stabbed with hair scissors?! How did that happen? Why didn’t you tell me? Did you go to the hospital? I hope it has healed, since then. ~~I really want you to be okay.~~

If you want me to do something about Helene, maybe I can convene with Carolyn . . . I mean, I don’t know if there’s anything we can do about it, but if there was, I would. You said it was a toxic workplace—it definitely is. I keep thinking of “Villanelle, the interior designer,” since you brought it up. It makes me smile. You would be great at that.

I’m sorry, I always want to ask you a bunch of questions about yourself, but I’m always unsure of what questions to stay away from. I don’t want to hurt you with my questions . . . Do you know what I mean? I won’t ask you about how Helene made you uncomfortable unless you want to talk about it. And I won’t ask about Russia, or anything, unless you want to talk about it.

I’m not much of a cook or baker. I tend to just stock up on the essentials: noodles, kimchi, etc.. You would be bored to death if you saw the inside of my fridge.

You used my toothbrush?! That’s disgusting! And it . . . explains some things. Yuck! I’m suddenly relieved that you’re in Alaska, far away from my toothbrush! ~~I will replace it, but I don’t want to throw it away because now it feels like a trace of you—it reminds me that you are real.~~

I want to give you advice about the “solitude” thing, but even I don’t feel so great about it, recently. Actually, I would like to keep exchanging letters, if that’s okay. You’re not bothering me. Thank you for thinking of me and sending them to me. ~~I feel so much less alone when I see your handwriting on the page, and I designated a box to keep them in, already.~~

I do still have the bear. Did you intend for it to be named “Princess?” She looks like a “Princess.”

Let me know what’s new with you. I hope you’re safe and well.

Your Friend Always,

Eve


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, again, for your comments. <3 I need to step up my "replying" game.

Dear Eve,

I’m glad you got a new toothbrush, and I’m even more glad that you kept Princess. Does it still talk to you? Does it still say what I programmed it to?

I don’t think there is anything anyone can do, when it comes to Helene. Like I said, she is hot, so at least there is that. I don’t think there’s anything even Carolyn’s boss’s boss could do, but I appreciate you thinking about it ~~more than you know~~.

Let me set something straight, Eve. You can ask me anything. If I don’t like the question, maybe I will just skip it. This way, you can ask me whatever you want. It feels good that you would like to know things about me.

I think I want to know about you, too. Can I ask you questions?

I’ve been eating so much salmon. I usually smoke or bake it. The Alaskan salmon is totally different and divine. If you ever get tired of kimchi, I will make you salmon. (I wish I could find kimchi in Alaska! Delicious.)

The water pressure in Alaska is shit. Maybe I will go back to Paris, soon.

My arm has healed from the stabbing scissors. I’m grateful you asked about this. I was doing a job, when it happened. I didn’t tell you about it when we were dancing because it was a lot better, by then. I only care about something that hurts while it is still hurting. ~~But I thought about you after it happened, when I cried on the bathroom floor. I wanted you to touch it. I wanted you to stitch it back together, not Dasha.~~

~~I wish I had more to say about what I do during the day, but sometimes I do not even go outside. I am very sad. Very, very sad, like it swallows me whole and nothing is left.~~

I’m glad you like the letters, Eve. Maybe I will write to you, all day. That would pass the time. I think I have too much _time_ , maybe this is my problem.

I know I didn’t get your permission, yet, for the questions. But what would you do, if you did not work for MI6? I think you would be good at a whole lot of things. You’re very smart and practical and efficient. ~~You have a lot of possibilities. I think I only had a few choices, and maybe I chose them all wrong.~~

(You found me. That’s how I know you’re efficient. – I guess that part wasn’t one of my sneaky questions.)

I wish you happiness, Eve. It is snowing again, and it is dark. But sometimes I see the shimmer of fresh snow and I think of your face, and I want you to be happy and smiling.

Your friend always, too,

Villanelle


	6. Chapter 6

Dear Villanelle,

Of course I have Princess, still, and she still says what she’s supposed to. Although . . . I have to admit, I ripped the heart out of the bear when I first found it. I heard the voice and freaked out and ripped her open. Maybe I could sew her back together. ~~I have the voice box and I have replaced the batteries on it, twice. Sometimes I doubt that you’re real. I need to hear your voice.~~

It sounds like you would be better off if you went back to Paris, V. If it’s that cold, and if you have too much time, maybe you would be better in a place that you are familiar with.

Sorry if I’m assuming too much—that you’re cold or that maybe you’re feeling a little bit down. I don’t know for certain. ~~I just have a really bad feeling in my gut.~~ You should do whatever you like! If you leave Alaska, will you send your letter from the new address, so I know where to send my replies?

~~You don’t deserve to be cold, and you don’t deserve to be alone. I know you said it reminds you of me, but that’s not what I would ever, _ever_ want for you.~~

I want to ask you something, but you don’t have to answer the question, if you don’t want to. When we went dancing, you were sad about something. What were you sad about? Or, at least, could you tell me if you’re feeling better about it, now? Even if you don’t want to talk about it, I sincerely hope that you feel better.

I think that I would be a psychologist, or something, if I was not working for MI6. It’s funny to imagine helping people after . . . _Raymond_. Need I say more? Maybe I should be the one visiting a psychologist. (Are you laughing, again? I hope you’re laughing.)

You could be a lot of things, too. You could adopt one of your persona names and become a model. A high fashion model, like the kind that goes to Paris Fashion Week. You could be an actress. I think you could do anything creative and colorful. You’re amazing; you don’t have a single boring cell in your body. I wish you could see yourself through a different lens. There are so many things you bring to the table.

Your current _career_ is impressive to me. It’s badass. Why do you think I was so “efficient” in tracking you down? I don’t want my ideas about who you _could_ be to take away from how incredible you already _are_.

Sorry, I got lost on a bit of a tangent.

You can ask me anything. Ask away! It would certainly bring some color to my days.

~~I had this dream, last night. You were crying. You couldn’t stop. All day, all I can think about is the dream.~~

~~I still remember the feeling of when you were in my house, my kitchen. It pains me when I realize you may never come back here.~~

I need to get this letter in the mail before the weekend. Maybe it’ll get to Alaska a little sooner.

Warmly,

Eve


	7. Chapter 7

Dear Eve,

I noticed a nickname in your letter. Do you remember? You called me “V.” I like this nickname. I wish I could come up with a nickname for you, but “Eve” is already like a nickname.

Eve. _Eve_. Eve. Your name always felt funny in my mouth. It kind of looks funny on the page, too.

I think you would be a great psychologist. What you do now is more exciting than that, yes? Maybe you could analyze me. You know that test with the ink blot papers? Maybe we could do one of those.

You’re right, Eve. I am not at my best. Maybe you are a psychologist—or a psychic, rather—because you knew about that. But I am okay, though. I don’t want you to worry. I have decided to stay in Alaska for a few more weeks (maybe a month), and then I will move. I think I need to be here, right now. ~~I am realizing a lot of things, and I think the solitude is what I need.~~

You ripped the Princess? Wow, maybe everyone should watch out . . . You can be a little scary, huh?

I am only joking, Eve. I laughed at your joke and I hope you laugh at mine.

It’s not always easy to make a joke on paper. You’re pretty good, though, you have made a few jokes.

You said you are the “open book.” I was wondering, what is your family like? Your mama and papa? Do you still talk to them? Could you describe to me, what was it like to be in your family’s house? I think that is what I would like to know, Eve, if this is something you would share.

Thank you for suggesting that I become a model. I am tall and gorgeous. Maybe I will open my suitcases of clothes and put on some of my favorites. That sounds really fun. ~~I haven’t had fun wearing my clothes or buying new ones, in a while.~~

I want to answer your question about what happened before I met you for dancing. It is a really unpleasant thing, and I feel scared that you will not talk to me, anymore, if I tell you. You listened when I said to walk away on the bridge, so I feel less afraid to tell you the truth. What is the risk – you will not send me letters, anymore? I want to tell you and I will not be upset by your reaction. For example, I will not be upset if you stop sending letters. I am only asking you, Eve, to confirm that you want to ~~hear~~ read this story.

~~I am crying while I write. I am hanging onto the hope that you will not think horrible things of me when you know the truth.~~

Thank you for writing me another letter. I will let you know the details about Paris so you will have my address, in case you want to keep writing. I like your letters and I keep them close by.

~~I think I reread the last one until all the words blurred together. “Warmly, Eve.” I stared at it. _Warmly. Warmly. Warmly._~~

Your friend,

Villanelle


	8. Chapter 8

Dear Villanelle,

I didn’t think about how funny and short my name is, until you mentioned it. If you like “V,” I will use it again.

I’m sorry that I ripped Princess. I just finished sewing her back together. She looks good as new!

Your jokes are great. I _can_ be a little scary, huh? I am not as sweet as some may think. You know this about me. If I may ask, was there a time when you kept your monster hidden? I think my monster is . . . _bored_. That’s the best way I can describe it. I’m hoping you’ll understand what I mean.

I really meant it when I said you can ask me anything, V. My family was pretty good, overall. My parents were harsh and strict and made sure that I got good grades, but I think they were just trying to be the best parents they could be. I grew up with an abundance of Korean food. My classmates made fun of me or said certain foods smelled funny, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I still talk to Umma and Appa. I call them on the holidays and make sure they have everything they need. I think you would like them. ~~I wish you could meet them. Is that weird to say? Am I endangering my family? I don’t know . . . I trust you. I know you would never hurt me.~~

You _are_ tall and gorgeous. Maybe you could post on Billie’s Instagram, as long as nobody could track your location? I don’t know enough about what kids do, nowadays, but I think your outfits would be perfect for that website.

You can tell me anything, V. I have an idea . . . Tell me about your story, and I promise I will reply to your letter, no matter what. I will be honest with you, if needed, but I will absolutely respond. We can go from there. Does that sound okay? I want to hear what happened. I hope you are not scared . . . I hope I have been a good listener, in the past, so maybe you can believe that I’m not going to judge you. Take your time and tell me if you still want to tell me.

~~Are you afraid that I’ll hate you? I don’t think it’s possible. I would have hated you, already, if it was. I hope I react in a way that suits whatever you need—I hope you can lean on me. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep well until you tell me what happened.~~

I am always happy to receive your letters, too. I really mean it.

Best wishes always,

Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got made fun of in kindergarten for bringing hummus to school. That's where that inspiration came from, lol!! 
> 
> It's okay. Now, hummus is widely known and everyone seems to love it :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Possible alcohol tw. 
> 
> Hello, lovely readers. Today's upload is one letter instead of two.
> 
> ***I would like to invite you to write a response to Villanelle, if you feel so inclined. You can write it as Eve or as yourself. It would make my whole day if you guys write letters to her in the comments.***
> 
> If not, that's okay! <3 Thank you all so much for reading and your kind comments mean the world.

~~Dear Eve,~~

Eve,

I’m such a ~~fucking~~ mess, I can’t get off of the floor. I’ve cried so much that my eyes are puffy. I’ve rewritten this letter twice. ~~I might need to start over, again.~~

Today was especially cold and ~~I didn’t want to light a fire, but I did it . . .~~ I lit the fireplace.

The smell. The smell is where everything started to go so wrong.

Is this what mourning is? I’m so used to killing and not caring about the family of the person I killed. But now, I killed my family, and _I am the family_ who is left over to feel the empty feeling. The sadness. ~~And the anger, the guilt, the numbness, the loss of everything I had left.~~

I poisoned Mama and let her fall to the floor, while I watched, and then I lit the whole house on fire. I only saved Pytor and Bor’ka (they are my brother and half-brother). The others are gone. Their house is gone—and it’s not even my house, it’s not the one that I remember.

Eve. I am crying your name over and over, as I write this, Eve.

I’m so sorry. I feel so guilty. I don’t want you to hate me forever.

I know you said you would reply, no matter what. Will you, still? I won’t be upset if you change your mind.

I won’t do anything like this, ever again. I don’t want you to be scared of me. Are you scared, Eve? Please know I could never hurt you ~~because~~ ~~I love you. I need to hold you and be held.~~

My family has never wanted me and never understood me. You’re not like them. ~~You’re just like me.~~ You accept me. You don’t need me to change the person I am, even though you told me I can be a model or interior designer. You see _me_ , first, and then you build from there.

I can’t put it into words, Eve. When you said “I know” on the dance floor. Did you hear me lose my breath?

~~I can’t~~ I don’t want to get my hopes up, Eve. I don’t want you to be fearful and disappointed when you read these words on the page. There’s no way I can make this better, but please know that I regret it. I wish that Mama was not gone. I wish she loved me. I wish she understood that I still loved her, even after she left me.

She told me she would come back.

Eve, your family sounds so warm, although I didn’t forget the part about your grades. Were they perfectionists? I don’t mean to sound jealous, it’s just that . . . maybe if I was in your family, I would not be the person I am, today.

You accept me, but I cannot accept me. I feel like the monster Helene said I was—and not “beautiful”, just “monster”.

I got a bottle of vodka, just now. Please don’t be mad, Eve, I will be careful. I just need something right now. I am having some drinks so I can keep writing it all down.

I’m going to say everything. You may already leave when you finish reading this letter, so I am going to make sure it says everything.

I haven’t been okay since we swayed together in the ballroom. I dream about the bridge, more nights than not. In the dream, I would still let you walk away, but I would hug you first. I would beg you to hold me, before you turned. I would kiss you—not like the bus, but softer. I would kiss you for finding me, for learning so many things about me, for the way you tried to catch and keep me.

You had me. You have had me, every day since then.

I let you walk away because that’s what you wanted, but I never stopped breathing your air. I never stopped feeling your hand in mine, like how we were when we danced.

This letter is too much . . . a confession of what I have done and a confession of love—my love for you.

~~If you leave me~~ If you stop replying to the letters, I will know that nothing was left unsaid. ~~~~

I can’t stand being in this place, anymore. I am going to Paris.

Billie Morgan

303 Rue Pasteur

4400 Paris

France

If you still write a response, please send it there. I will check the mail before I even move in. I will be okay, even if I do not receive a letter. Please do what you feel is best. If I never hear from you again, I will still carry you in my heart.

Regretfully and full of sorrow,

Villanelle


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your letter comments, yesterday! That was wonderful. You all showed just how soft you are.

Billie Morgan

303 Rue Pasteur

4400 Paris

France

Dear Villanelle,

I am so sorry for your loss. I couldn’t breathe when I read your letter, but it’s not for the reasons you probably think.

I’m so sorry about your childhood. About Mama. About your other family members and the way that you didn’t even get to see your childhood house, again. (Maybe you didn’t even want to see it.) I’m sorry about Russia and Anna and The Twelve. I’m sorry for all of the tragedies in your life.

~~My parents would have loved you.~~

I cry as I write this letter, too. ~~I am sorry you cried my name and there was nothing I could do about it.~~

**My parents would have loved you** , and they would have been happy to have a beautiful baby with high cheekbones and beautiful clothes. They would have called you “Princess,” like the bear you gave to me.

Maybe you also would have become a spy because of their ~~strictness~~ perfectionism, and the way it would make you want to do something exciting. You could have spent your working hours trying to track down your own self! (Are you able to laugh at that joke, Villanelle? Do you have it in you? ~~I hope so.~~ **I hope so.** )

I haven’t stopped thinking about the fire you described, and I wonder if it looks the same in my nightmares as it looked, through your eyes. I’m sorry you had to see that.

I know you didn’t mean to. I could feel the guilt, I could feel the growing sadness, already, when we were together. ~~I wish you told me, that night. Maybe everything would be different. I would never have let you be alone.~~

It may take months or years to let it go or forgive yourself. But Villanelle . . . V, I hope with all of my heart that you will try.

Nobody has a perfect family. You don’t have to like them. You don’t have to forgive them for all the things they did wrong. – In your case, it was so many things. ~~I wish I was your family. You never would’ve needed to chase Anna’s affection because I would have made sure you knew you were loved and cherished.~~

I am so sorry that my words are not enough to mend your incredible amount of hurt. Please know that I would just keep writing, if this was a cure.

Let me say this: I don’t hate you. I am not scared of you. If you ever doubt what I think, read this again.

~~I wish I could hold you.~~

~~I love you, too. I just don’t know how to say it. Not yet, and not in this letter . . . maybe the next.~~

I would really like to visit you in Paris, if that’s okay. Would you be willing to have me? I won’t give your address to anyone, I promise. I’ll take all the precautions to ensure my location won’t be tracked.

I hope you are doing better, since you moved. Take care of yourself while you grieve. Thank you for trusting me enough to share this with me.

Lastly, V, . . . there’s not much I can do from here, but will you do me a favor? Pick up your right hand. Place that hand on your left cheek. Brush your thumb over your cheek, once. Now twice.

With love and sympathy,

Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried, for a sec, to hold together the idea that they're probably in massive danger because of where S3 left off. It's not perfect, but hey. You guys are just here for the mush. ;)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to share that writing letters is how I gained an interest and voice in writing, growing up. I'm glad I can share letters with a broad audience, rather than just the singular person that the letter is addressed to.
> 
> I used to only be able to express important feelings through writing because I would feel "choked up" and I couldn't get words out of my mouth, especially during a conflict. I improved a lot when I became an adult, so now I can translate feelings into words with a sense of clarity.
> 
> I just felt like sharing with this group. Your compliments on these letters mean a lot, especially those of you who valued it as a form of art or compared it to poetry. It made me reflect on my history of writing letters.
> 
> Sending you all warmth! x

Dear Eve,

Thank you for your letter. I saw it as soon as I arrived, and I cried so much that the envelope was wet. I cried before I even read it, and then I cried during and afterwards.

Your message to me ~~was~~ is so healing, and I feel like I owe you everything for the way that you see me and understand me. I did not even tell you everything, and yet, you were able to put the pieces together. You said things that I never would have imagined in my own mind.

I thought a lot about how maybe I can forgive myself (not now, but far into the future) or how maybe I didn’t deserve my problems. I always assumed that I deserved everything because I am not a good person, and because I am like this (a killer). I felt defective, unwanted. Unloved.

Even Konstantin’s best words did not compare to your letter. He was the closest I had to family—Papa was nicer to me than the others, but he died a long time ago. But what I mean to say is that Konstantin was kind of like a second chance at having a papa.

And you, Eve, you’re everything. You’re like a whole family.

Except I do not want to put that pressure on you, though. You do not have to be the brother, sister, mama, and papa, if you do not want to.

(Maybe I am making no sense . . .)

I kept your letter and reread it many times.

Eve, there is nothing I want more than to have you visit me in Paris. I really like it here, and I brought the frozen Alaskan salmon so that I can prepare it for you, if I see you.

I declared my love for you in my last letter. You did not reply to those parts, so I do not know how you feel. ~~I feel heartbroken at the possibility that maybe you do not love me back.~~ I am open to however you feel, whether you love me or even if you do not.

I just do not want to be hurt more while I am recovering from the fire. Does this make sense? ~~I cannot handle it. I will break apart and there will be nothing left.~~

Let me explain my idea to you. What I would like is for you to come to Paris very soon, if you love me back. If you do _not_ love me, then I would ask that you give me a few months so that I can put aside my love for you and be a good host, later on. Does that make sense? Is this okay?

Either way, I will have you over, Eve. I will repay your plane ticket cost. I will buy you crêpes and we can shop. The only thing that changes is _when_ you will come.

Do you think this is good? I am trying my best.

Eve, you have given me a whole new life, with your letter. So I would not be upset if you do not love me. I hope you will tell me the truth of what you feel because I will accept any of your words.

I will patiently await your response.

~~Love~~ Warmly,

Villanelle

P.S. I would love to be your parents’ “Princess.” I think you are already their Princess, Eve, no?


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I just edited the chapter count to 12, but inspiration struck me and now there are 13 chapters. I'm sure none of you lovely people will be upset by that.
> 
> Thanks again for your comments; I can't tell you how uplifting they are, as I'm going about my day.

**_(3 days later)_ **

Three soft knocks on the front door.

She answers.

“Eve!” she exclaims, eyes wide. She is not happy, but she is not sad. She is just shocked.

“Hey,” Eve whispers. Her eyes dance with all of the emotions she feels. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you a heads up. I wanted to get to you, quickly. A letter would take another week or two to get here.”

Villanelle squeezes the doorknob because she never let it go; she was too overwhelmed to realize it.

“Come in,” Villanelle says, eyes wide and face still frozen with surprise. She will be damned if she’s not polite and hospitable to Eve, after everything.

Eve steps in and admires the finery of the apartment. It has two levels. Cream walls. A blue chandelier. The accents are dark wood.

“Can I make you tea?” Villanelle asks.

“Please,” Eve says, finally looking back towards Villanelle’s eyes. She smiles at Villanelle timidly.

“I—I only have black tea, is that—?”

“That’s perfect, V,” Eve responds.

The nickname hits Villanelle and she resists the impulse to gasp. Her eyes widen again and then fall. She rushes to the kitchen to make tea. And when she starts, she has shaky hands.

Villanelle waits until the tea is finished to say anything else to her guest. She buys herself time, waiting for it to steep while glancing over to Eve, several times, who has taken a seat on her sofa.

Her hands shake when she carries the tea cup over and sets it down on her own coffee table.

Villanelle notices that Eve wears a jacket and holds her scarf over her arm.

Villanelle is pleading, weak. Her voice shakes. “I’m sorry I didn’t offer to take your coat, can I—"

“—It’s okay,” Eve interjects. “I am sorry I didn’t warn you before coming. I just . . .” her eyes wander to a Monet painting, and then back to Villanelle’s glossy eyes. “I wanted to talk to you, as soon as possible.”

“Eve,” she accidentally whispers, pained. She straightens her posture before continuing. “I don’t understand. Which visit is this?” Her hands start to shake, so she grasps them together. “Is this the visit because you love me or the visit because you don’t?”

Eve sees pain and worry starting to bubble up under Villanelle’s skin. She wants to sooth her back down.

“It’s— _I love you_ ,” Eve chokes, unable to watch Villanelle wait in fear, any longer.

Villanelle takes shaky breaths and her mouth curls into a smile, then drops again; a flash of disbelief.

“You do?” Villanelle asks.

Eve nods. “I haven’t been the same since I met you—well, since before I met you, when I wondered if you even exist,” Eve admits. She doesn’t know where the words are coming from, but she is glad they are finally falling out.

Villanelle nods and continues listening. Her heart starts to pound.

“I think of the bridge, too. The ballroom. I wish I hadn’t walked away—I wouldn’t have, if I knew what . . . happened. What you were going through.”

Villanelle wonders if Eve only came back because of her grieving. “Eve, if this is about the fire, you don’t have to. You don’t have to come over and help me, just because of that. Your letter was perfect, you—”

“—No!” Eve says, shaking her head. “No, it’s not like that, I . . .”

Eve takes a deep breath and sets her scarf down, and she pulls herself to the side of the sofa where Villanelle sits. She reaches up and rests her hand on Villanelle’s cheek and is relieved when Villanelle softens instead of moves away.

“ . . . I love you. I want to say it beautifully, like you did in your letter, but I don’t know how. All I can tell you are the facts.”

A tear rolls down Villanelle’s cheek, and Eve catches it with her thumb.

“What are ‘the facts’?” she asks in a whisper.

“I listen to the voice box from the bear, every night. I wish that I held you on the bridge and then never walked away. I had dreams about you where you were crying endlessly, and I wanted to be the one to help you stop—before you even told me about what happened.”

Eve’s other hand rests on Villanelle’s wrist, and she doesn’t even realize she placed it there.

“I’m sorry that I walked away, but there is no one else for me. There is only you. I love every part of you.”

Eve moves her hand from Villanelle’s cheek to her heart. She feels the warm skin at her fingertips. Villanelle takes a shaky inhale and her tears continue to fall.

“What’s in here—I love what you have in here,” Eve struggles, overwhelmed with emotions. “I . . . I love who you are. Every part.”

Villanelle’s hands shake, even though Eve is holding one of her wrists down.

“Eve,” she breathes, and she puts her hand over Eve’s. Her own hand stops shaking, as soon as she does it.

Eve feels her heart expand at the contact.

“You did say it beautifully,” Villanelle offers. She smiles and her eyes swim with melancholy and relief, at the same time.

Villanelle leans in to kiss Eve, but she wants to ask, first.

“Can I kiss you?” she whispers.

Eve nods and closes the distance between them, and her hand over Villanelle’s chest grips onto her shirt, when they kiss. She doesn’t realize she is grabbing at the material of Villanelle’s blouse, but her hand travels back to Villanelle’s cheek, slowly. Eve cups her cheek and continues to kiss her.

“I love every part of you, too, Eve,” Villanelle finally says against her mouth.

Eve hums into another kiss. She feels Villanelle’s arms circle around her: one around her neck, and the other around her shoulder. Eve realizes how tall Villanelle is when she feels a soft kiss on her forehead. She never realized Villanelle could be tender and slow, like this.

It takes everything for Eve not to tuck herself into Villanelle’s chest and be held, especially with how much she longed to see her again. But Eve realizes that Villanelle needs it more.

“Ville?” she whispers.

Another nickname.

Villanelle gasps, this time.

“Come here,” Eve offers, and guides Villanelle’s head onto her shoulder.

Eve feels overwhelmingly protective, suddenly, and she brushes her thumb over Villanelle’s forehead and eyebrow. She whispers “Princess” without meaning to, smiling, and then she whispers “Baby” with so much _need_ to keep holding her and caressing her.

Villanelle closes her eyes with fear when she asks, “You do not hate me for all the bad things I have done?”

Eve strokes her cheek.

“Look at me?” Eve requests.

Villanelle opens her eyes and looks, and her glossy eyes meet Eve’s.

“No. I don’t hate you. I know you’ve had a lot of horrible things happen to you. Villanelle, you’re not the monster . . . that you keep writing about.”

“Beautiful monster?” Villanelle asks.

Eve nearly loses herself in the pools of Villanelle’s eyes.

“No,” she finally says, and then a whispered “baby.” Eve clarifies, “Beautiful _girl_. Beautiful _person_.”

Villanelle buries her face in Eve’s neck. Tears stream down her face.

“Eve,” Villanelle breathes with a shaky voice, “you said I can be a model or an interior designer.”

“Mhm,” Eve replies.

“I think I just—I just want to be _yours_.”

Eve presses a kiss onto Villanelle’s cheek, then offers, “Be mine, then. You’re mine.” And she hugs Villanelle against herself.

Something about being held and being offered a new home—one within Eve—feels as though the fire in Russia is being extinguished with water. Peace overwhelms Villanelle as she smiles against Eve’s neck.

“Thank you for coming back to me,” she tells Eve.

Eve smiles, too. “It’s where I belong, Villanelle.”

“Will you stay here with me?” Villanelle asks her, leaning back and trying to catch another glimpse at Eve’s eyes.

“I brought a suitcase with me . . . with everything I own that I wanted to keep. It’s at my hotel.”

Villanelle gasps with delight.

“I brought it just in case you asked.”

Villanelle smiles at Eve, overjoyed. Her eyes sparkle with happier tears. She kisses Eve, again, and then lays down on Eve’s lap.

Eve runs her fingers through Villanelle’s hair and listens to the sound of her breathing, and she realizes that she is home, too, for the first time in a long time.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the end of this story. And thank you for being here, loves. I would like to apologize, again, for my lack of responses to comments. I thought about going back through, but that would flood all of your email inboxes. :(
> 
> Your comments have warmed my days. I think some of you know that I needed the warmth, based on some IRL events. Anyway, I don't take your lovely comments for granted. <3

It’s been three weeks, and they’ve grown comfortable together.

Eve presses her lips to her coffee cup, watching Villanelle float through the kitchen and prepare breakfast.

Villanelle cracks eggs into a bowl and she glances in Eve’s direction, for a moment, and is surprised when Eve is looking right back at her. She becomes shy and smiles, quickly turning her attention back to the bowl of eggs.

“What?” Eve teases, smiling and not taking her gaze away from Villanelle.

“I was thinking . . .” she cracks the last egg, then reaches into the drawer beneath her to grab a fork. “Do you remember when—” she looks at Eve, again, and her whole face falls. She starts stirring the eggs with the fork.

“What is it?” Eve asks, concerned.

Villanelle shakes her head. “It’s stupid,” she says, refusing to look back up, again.

Eve comes closer to Villanelle and circles her arms around her from behind.

“I’m sure it’s not. What is it, baby?” Eve tries.

Villanelle feels Eve’s warmth, and a soft kiss lands on the side of her neck, so she falters.

“Do you remember when you said you couldn’t write a beautiful love letter, when you came here?”

Eve is caught off guard. “Oh . . . yes.”

“It’s just—You didn’t respond to my letter. You showed up, which is way more perfect than I could ever have imagined, but I was wondering if . . .” she doubts herself again and becomes quiet.

Eve steps around so that she faces Villanelle. “If what?” she whispers, trying to gain eye contact.

“Do you think you could try?” Villanelle clarifies, “To respond to my letter?”

Eve nods and reaches to move Villanelle’s hair out of her face. She strokes Villanelle’s jawline. “I can absolutely try,” she promises. “Can I ask why?”

“I think . . . I just want to keep it. I want to have it. I want to know what you would write,” Villanelle admits. She feels vulnerable and honest. She has experienced more vulnerability and honesty with Eve than in any other season of her life, and it’s new for her, but she keeps trying.

“I’ll start now,” Eve says, and then she kisses her. “Thank you for making breakfast,” she adds.

//

_Dearest Villanelle,_

_These weeks with you have been extraordinary. I never imagined we would have such beautiful, long days together. They make up for everything we have gone through, right?_

Eve shakes her head because something about that last sentence wasn’t graceful. But she takes a deep breath and thinks of Villanelle, then continues.

_I’m sorry. I told you this may not be graceful and beautiful like yours, but I will try my best._

Eve catches Villanelle glancing at her again, while letting the bacon and eggs brown in the pan. Villanelle smiles when she is caught looking, and Eve smiles in turn, and both of them chuckle with light in their eyes.

“You look beautiful when you are concentrating,” Villanelle says, blushing.

Eve clicks her pen because she has butterflies, then returns to her task.

_Darling. Sweetheart. Baby. I never tire of finding names that fit you, but would you believe me if I told you that even the softest of them aren’t quite good enough?_

_There is no name that matches you, Angel. Words cannot express the glimmer in your eyes or the soft pink of your blushed lips, or the sweet taste of the inside of your mouth._

_I feel at home when my body is laid down next to yours. It’s exactly like the first time, here in Paris, yet we are completely changed—new._

_When I close my eyes, next to you, sometimes I can’t tell whose breathing is whose. We blur into each other. Your oxygen is mine; the blood in your veins is mine; the heartbeat in my chest is yours._

_And I feel at ease. I find rest in the warmth of your pretty, ivory skin._

_The sound of you, Villanelle. The sound when you’re sobbing against me because of Mama—my heart crumbles to pieces in my chest, on those nights. But then there are other sounds, like your soft little breaths when you’ve fallen asleep, or the slur of your words after some wine, or your broken (breathtaking) whimper when you come under my fingertips._

_Beautiful girl. My heart swells with love . . ._

Eve looks up at Villanelle and feels her chest expand when Villanelle notices her. A tear rolls down Eve’s cheek. She feels lucky to have this; she offers a melancholy smile to her lover.

. . . _each time I swim in your hazel eyes._

_I was broken without you, and I couldn’t admit it to either of us. I’m sorry, sweet girl, for not being brave enough to reach out, first . . . to admit my love, first. I felt cold, like I was wading through the Arctic Ocean, and it was you who offered me a helping hand._

_It was you—when you had every reason to be broken apart and unresponsive. You told me you loved me. That you trusted me enough to leave your heart in my hands, in the ballroom. You let me walk away from you, on the bridge, and told me that the only thing you would have changed is that you would have kissed me, before I left. And then you saved me from cold waters, even though you were the one struggling to float._

_I didn’t realize how much I needed to be loved, like that—like this. I was an empty shell. Each time you wrote “Eve” on paper, you painted me back to life._

_Did you know that, Ville?_

_You keep exalting me for saving you from your past and from the tragedies you carry, but really, I think you saved me. You breathed life back into me._

_Existing in your love is something I refused for so long. I wish I hadn’t. It is so colorful and beautiful to be a part of this mural, with you—this masterpiece we become when we’re together._

_I hope you can forgive me for the chasing, the waiting, and the times we came together, only to be spun apart, again. I hope you can pardon the scar on your perfect skin (and all of my attempts to kiss it away)._

_And thank you, Baby. Thank you for letting me go and waiting. You prioritized me, and you still prioritize me—like when you’re cooking and . . ._

Eve looks up, again, and Villanelle stops plating all of their breakfast foods so that she can catch Eve’s eyes. Eve laughs. Villanelle will understand, later.

_. . . you hold the space for me, in case I need you._

_(Jokes. We never tire of laughing.)_

_Sweetest V, I must put this pen down. Breakfast is ready. I would never stop paying homage to all the love I hold for you, under any other circumstance. But I hope you can understand that I want to look into your eyes, and I want to taste syrup and coffee from your lips. I need this; I live for these moments with you._

_Yours Always,_

_Eve_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of you requested a true love letter, based on comments that said, "I can't wait until the sign-off changes," and such. I was worried I would disappoint you all by not providing that. Luckily, I got an inspiration (a visual) of this scene. So I was finally able to provide a true love letter. I hope it was even more satisfactory than Chapter 12.
> 
> Love you all and thanks for reading! <3


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